Lead By Starlight
by Wings Of Sanguine
Summary: With the curse broken, Emma meets a young teenager who has nothing more than a passion for singing and unrequited love for a girl long dead. His adopted father isn't too keen about it, and Emma is determined to help him after witnessing the man belittling him while working at the local barbershop. (DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN SWEENEY TODD, OUAT OR ANY CHARACTERS)
1. Chapter 1

Emma could hear it, clear as day. A voice warbling on the brink of exhaustion, wafting through the windows of Granny's diner, followed by the smell of freshly baked bread and the fried fat of bacon. The bell tinkled as she pushed the door open, frowning momentarily with confusion as she saw Ruby rolling around in her skimpy waitress uniform, serving Leroy and the other dwarves tall mugs of beer. Shooting a quick look to her left, she saw Mary Margaret and David grinning like idiots at one another, glancing to the bar every couple of seconds. Granny was busy cleaning a few glasses free of beer that club to the bottoms of the glass. Sighing, Emma strode over to Mary Margaret and David, sliding into the booth next to Mary Margaret, David sitting across from them.

"Hey Emma," Mary Margaret slid an arm around her, squeezing her with a one-armed hug. Emma returned the favor, the voice still hanging on her ears.

"Hey guys," she said quickly, adding, "hey, did you hear someone singing outside?" Mary Margaret and David shared knowing looks before the black haired woman shifted Emma so she stared at the bar, pointing to Granny as she began talking with someone. By now the voice had stopped singing, ringing through the airwaves.

"He was, but he stopped now," Mary Margaret said, then to David, "wasn't it beautiful?" David nodded in agreement, shoulders shrugging as he chuckled.

"If you consider covers of Queen songs to be beautiful," he retorted. Emma smiled awkwardly, craning her neck to get a good look at who it was Granny was talking to, who was singing.

A teenager, looking to be about eighteen, possibly older, was hunched over the countertop, arms stretched backwards so he was tangling his hair up in his fingers, hands resting behind his neck. Granny was sliding glasses around him carefully, the friction against the counter loud amongst the bumbling and talkative customers. Biting her lip, Emma studied him some more:

He was wearing what looked like a long sleeved shirt, gray and a little worn out. Black skinny jeans bunched up around his ankles, stretching across his legs as he kicked them idly like a child, sitting atop a black peacoat he had placed on the stool. A woolen scarf was wrapped lazily around his neck. His black loafers needed a good shining, the heels worn away until they looked like they might fall off. After a few minutes, Granny tapped him on the shoulder, and the great mess that was his hair swayed in his face, golden brown or some sort of gold and in desperate need of a brushing.

"He was singing?" Emma said, almost breathlessly. She had to admit: the kid was extremely good-looking. His cheekbones looked like they could be higher than skyscrapers, his lips pouted to near perfection as he licked them. All the while he seemed to retain some sort of childish innocence about him, as if he was unaware of what effect his looks might have on girls. Mary Margaret nodded.

"It was truly magical," she said, not bothering to address the fact that it did, in fact, sound cheesy. Emma shrugged. Ruby had rolled up the counter, leaning against it in what the girl probably hope was seductive. Emma and David snorted in unison, watching the teenager try flirting.

"Leave it to Ruby to snatch up the goods before anyone else," David joked, receiving a playful glare from his wife. Shaking her head, the trio watched as Granny tried shooing Ruby back to work, Ruby throwing a mini tantrum, yelling that "You never let me do anything fun!"

"Annoying the young man is not an idea of fun, missy!" was Granny's rebuttal, and Ruby sent the boy a pretty lipsticked smile before rolling off to collect mugs from the dwarves, who looked like they were just about finished and drunk out of their minds. The boy shook his head, smiling sheepishly in reply before resting his chin on the counter. Emma took this opportunity to slide out of her seat and amble over to the bar, hopping up on the seat next to him. Granny turned her attention to her, smiling softly.

"Anything I can get you, Emma?" she asked. Emma cleared her throat nervously, casting a sideways glance at the boy before answering.

"A Coke, if you don't mind?" Emma asked, clasping her hands on the counter in front of her. Clinking and clanking could be heard throughout the diner as people finished or started meals. While Granny wen under the bar to fix the soda, Emma stole another look at the boy.

Up close, his cheekbones were sharper than she realized, looking like possible weapons of mass destruction. With his golden brown hair framing his face, it looked fluffy, like the soft downy feathers of a pillow. A thing ring of gold decorated the boy's left nostril. _Fancy_, Emma thought, noticing it shined brightly under the fluorescent lights. Eyes trailing along his arms, Emma saw how thin the shirt really was- like it had been washed one too many times.

"Here you are, dear," Granny broke through her staring, placing a tall glass of bubbly soda in front of her, a bendy straw sticking out jauntily from the top. Nodding, Emma leaned forward, grabbing he straw between her fingers carefully. One too many times she had shaped the straws in half with her nails, and she was determined not to do so again.

"Thanks, Granny," Emma said, her eyes darting momentarily to the kid as she sipped the drink. It was cool on her tongue, the bubbles fizzing up to her sinuses, making her scrunch her face and shake her head as they popped in her nose.

"You okay there, Miss?"

Emma raised an eyebrow at the boy, taken aback by his accent. It shouldn't have been surprising, the British thing, but for some reason it was. She had met a lot of British people while doing her job as a bounty hunter in New York.

In Storybrooke, Maine, however, no one was that exotic. Unless you counted Belle and Mr. Gold, with their fancy Australian and Scottish accents. Shrugging, Emma smiled politely, her lips a thin line on her face.

"Yeah, thanks," she said, then, "if you don't mind me asking, do you know who was singing earlier?" A brief look of what Emma could only discern as worry flash across his face before he answered her.

"Sorry, that was um…." he trailed, licking his lips, "that was me…." He seemed to be trying to press himself into the counter, like he wanted to disappear on the spot.

"Dude, you look terrified," Emma commented with a laugh, "just because I'm the sheriff doesn't mean there's a need to be wary." At the mention of her job, the boy widened his eyes, jumping up suddenly. In a flurry of gray cloth and wild limbs, the boy rushed to get off his stool, but only succeeded in twisting around awkwardly before crashing to the floor. Emma jumped as he slammed his hands on the floor to keep himself from crashing, taking a moment to draw a breath.

"Hey, kid-" Emma began, reaching down to help him up. Before she could grab his arm, he suddenly wrenched himself away from her, scrambling as he got up, running from the diner as if he was being chased by a murderer, the door nearly coming off its hinges as he slammed it behind him.

Silence hung in the air before everyone returned to what it was they were doing, Emma staring at the door minutes after the kid had run out.

The bell was swinging wildly above the white doorframe, ringing obnoxiously his departure.


	2. Chapter 2

Anthony began muttering curses under his breath as he raced over to The Bed & Breakfast that the old woman ran- Granny was the name he could remember, the old woman with the young granddaughter in the red shorts. Heart beating against his ribs, he threw open the door to the motel, surprising the teen as he stomped up the stairs- when she had gotten there, it didn't matter. Ruby was only going to try and flirt with him even further.

Something he knew Mr. Todd would not be happy with.

Gulping, Anthony came to a stop at the top of the stairs, pulling at the hem of his shirt, wrapping the scarf tight around his neck until he was almost cutting off circulation. The boy sighed.

Not breathing was probably better than anything Mr. Todd did when he was angry. It was better, actually, then anything Mr. Todd did in general. The floorboards creaked under his weight as he approached the door, dust swirling in the shafts of light that came in through the hallway windows. Swallowing hard, he raised a hand, his fingers trembling as he closed them around the door handle.

Turning the damn thing felt like time and space had slowed down, like he was pushing his way through a pool of molasses or tar. A grandfather clock sat up against a wall farther down the corridor from the room he shared with Mr. Todd, ticking down the seconds that passed with each waste of time, just standing there. Anthony could feel a tingle in his arm- he had to open the door sometime.

Better sooner than later.

Finally, he pushed it open, eyes warily scanning the perimeter as he tiptoed into the hotel room. His breath clouded in the stale air as it burst from his nose, like a dragon about to breath fire. The room, it appeared, was not in the best shape. In fact, it was probably worse than when he and Mr. Todd had arrived. The shag carpet was frayed an thin on the floor, a good five inches of dust covering every available surface. The thing curtains had holes and rips as they flapped pitifully against the window. Once he stepped into the room there was a crunch underfoot. He lifted his toes.

A vase was shattered into crystalline pieces, the shards menacingly sharp. Anthony sighed- it was something else Mr. Todd was going to make him take care of again, he knew it. He went to pick up the pieces when he heard it.

The cold voice.

The one filled with hatred and disgust.

"And where have you been, hmm?" Mr. Todd said pleasantly.

Anthony ran a hand through his hair nervously, bones creaking as he straightened himself out. He knew he was going to get in trouble if he told Mr. Todd the truth. _But the same thing happens when I lie_, he thought forlornly, shivering at the mere thought of what the man was capable of the corner of his eye, he saw a black spider crawl across the floor to slip under the bed that was pushed up against the far wall. The sheets were rumpled, with weird stains decorating the blankets and mattress. Mr. Todd was siting at the vanity, a set of blades placed in front of him. Anthony felt his knees buckle slightly.

But not enough to collapse, thankfully.

"Well?" Mr. Todd pressed, eyeing him with a raised brow.

"I was…. out," Anthony answered softly, reluctantly. Mr. Todd nodded, passing the pads of his fingers together. It was something Anthony knew all too well- especially when he had the shaving tools out in front of him.

"I presume you saw that girl at the diner?" Mr. Todd guessed, yelling as Anthony groaned, "Don't you roll your eyes at me, young man!" Anthony couldn't help it- even though Ruby was definitely an attractive young woman, he was still in love with Johanna.

_Johanna, with her beautiful yellow hair…. a kind smile…_

Anthony grinned as he began to think of her- much to Mr. Todd's chagrin.

"It was her then, eh boy?" a sly grin crossed the man's face, snapping Anthony back to reality. He shook his he'd vigorously, taking a step back. The already shattered vase cracked even more underfoot. The sound of a chair scraping the floor was faint- he ignored it.

"Crap," Anthony muttered, turning to apologize.

Only to have a flash of silver backhanded across his face.

Without a word, Anthony put a hand to his face. His fingers came away sticky with red. Mr. Todd's blade, in return, dripped rubies, staining the already disgusting carpet.

"What did I tell you, Anthony? About cursing in this house?" Mr. Todd sneered, rubbing his dirty fingers along the curve f the blade. It glinted harshly in the sun. Anthony wanted so bad to talk back. To say something. Anything.

But he found himself unable to find the words, instead painstakingly desperate to fight back tears.

Throat feeling like it was about to close, Anthony answered softly, "That you forbade it…." He coughed, dust tickling his throat and nose. Mr. Todd picked at his black hair. It stuck out as if he had just gotten electrocuted, a single white stripe decorating the left side. Nodding Mr. Todd inspected the shaving utensil, grinning smugly as he wiped off the blood, flicking it off his fingers. A fly buzzed around the single lightbulb inside the fixture on the ceiling.

"That's right," Mr. Todd confirmed, "so don't let me hear you do that again." Almost microscopic, Anthony nodded. Eyes scanning the room, he rested his gaze at the hem of the blankets that hung off the bed.

Mr. Todd didn't see it, but Anthony knew what was under there. Much like Johanna had been reserved, the space under the bed was reserved for one thing Anthony possibly loved as much as Johanna: his guitar.

Whenever he had a chance, he'd sneak it out of its case and strum the strings. The smell of freshly polished wood always lingered, and Anthony often had to cover up the scent with dust or some sort of greasy food.

Playing guitar was something Mr. Todd considered a waste of time. It was something that the man never truly appreciated, having an affinity for cutting hair since he could remember. Just the flash of silver in the light, Anthony noticed, was enough to make Mr. Todd go on and on about the beauty of the blade- his 'friends', as he called them.

The thought of what he use to do with those blades made Anthony shiver in his boots. Leaving his far and the vase on the floor alone, he went to reach for the door.

"And Anthony?" Mr. Todd voiced. The floorboards creaked as the barber went back to his bases, lowering himself gracefully into the chair.

Anthony froze, his fingers grazing the cold metal of the doorknob.

"Y-yes, Mr. Todd?"

"Don't forget to tidy up the shop," he said, "today is, after all, the grand opening of our quaint little home." Anthony bit his lip, nodding once again. He felt wrath running over his chin- he had broken the skin with his teeth, creating red rivers on white paper.

"Of course, Mr. Todd," he breathed, the door creaking as he exited.

He made sure to close it quietly, turning the knob with a soft click.


	3. Chapter 3

Ruby watched as Anthony had run out, how he was nearly tripping over his own two feet. His clothes looked slightly disarrayed, his scarf looking on the brink of being a noose, if it was possible. His feet fell with loud clunks, and as she watched him, Granny decided to appear behind the front desk, rubbing at the wrinkles around her eyes.

"Stop making so much damn noise, Ruby!" Granny scolded. Ruby threw her hands up, guffawing anther grandmother with disbelief- it was so not fair, getting in trouble for stuff she didn't do. Before Ruby could protest, Anthony lunged across the floor.

And promptly crashed to the ground with a loud thud, upsetting the decorative coffee table that sat in the lobby. It wobbled a bit, but thankfully didn't fall along with him. _Ouch_, Ruby thought, going to help him up. Licking her lips, Ruby held out a hand.

"You okay?" she asked sweetly, putting on the megawatt smile she usually reserved for the hot guys that came to the diner late at night. Of course, she was fully aware of Granny's disapproving stare that was boring holes int her back, but she ignored it. if she couldn't get him to talk at the diner, she was surely going to get him to talk now.

His face was downcast, his shoulder shaky as he tried catching his breath until after a few minutes he finally looked up. Ruby could only widen her eyes, furrow her brow in confusion.

A stripe of red was on his face, dried and crusting. Refusing her hand, he pushed himself to his knees, the bones in his legs clacking together as he trembled. The werewolf could only watch in disoriented confusion as he managed his way through the lobby and out the door. Stopping, he turned around.

"I do apologize for everything, Miss," he stated. Swiveling on his heel, he barged out the door. Ruby shared a look with her grandmother.

"Granny," was all she could say.

"What?" the old woman shrugged, obviously annoyed that she was awakened from her nap and obviously oblivious. Just by looking at him- no, smelling the blood, really- she could tell that something was definitely up. _But what?_ she thought, tucking her brown hair behind her ear. He had seemed somewhat amiable at the diner- and his singing was just phenomenal. The fan on the ceiling whirred to itself, humming an unrecognizable tune. Sighing, she fixed the contents resting on the coffee table.

Why the boy had apologized was definitely weird. He hadn't knocked anything over, he hadn't broken anything valuable. It was possible he had stolen something, but Ruby highly doubted it- he didn't seem like the type of person to do so. Her heels clicked on the wooden paneled floor and she suddenly pick dyer head up, a dog pricking its ears.

"Ruby?" Granny asked.

Ruby ignored her grandmother, instead focusing on the sound.

A scratching noise- she could hear it.

Upstairs, someone was sharpening something- _But what?_ Ruby tried to focus. There was a sickly Clorox stench bombarding her nose, and she wrinkled her face, squeezing her eyes shut as a new spun came into focus.

Whistling.

A bright, happy whistling accompanied by a scratching… something.

And then it stopped. Disappeared. Ruby cocked her head, hair falling in her face.

Silence hung in the air for a moment before the noises started coming again: footsteps, the creaking of wood….. By now, Granny had turned back in, the door to her room shutting softly behind her. Ruby turned her head towards the stairs.

An older man was carefully climbing down the stairs, holding something preciously in his pale hands. In fact, everything about him was pale- his face, his clothes, his hair…. Black bags shadowed his bloodshot eyes, black hair sticking out like he had just stuck his finger in an electrical socket. Ruby focused on the single white stripe he had- possibly dyed to offset the deep black.

He nodded in greeting swaggering forward.

"Miss Ruby," he said. Ruby felt her eye twitch as a creepy smile tugged at his thin lips.

Forcing herself to return the sentiment, she grinned back, "Hello- Mr. Todd, was it?" He nodded.

"Please, call me Sweeney," he said coldly, then, "have you seen Anthony?" Ruby opened her mouth to answer, pausing before she shut it instead. What was she supposed to do?

_Tell him where the kid went- duh!_ she scolded herself internally. Clearing her throat, she replied, "He just went out- to the barbershop, I think." Smirking, Sweeney clutched whatever it was in his hand. Ruby could smell the faint taint of blood on something- assuming it was on what he was holding.

She jutted her chin at him, "What's that?"

Mr. Todd held one up for her to see, "This, dear Ruby, is my friend." Ruby felt a shiver run down her spine. What he was showing her was definitely not a friend- it looked like a butter knife. At her confused- and slightly disgusted- look, he clarified, "Shaving tools, my dear. Tools of the trade, if you will." Ruby nodded, crossing her arms.

A moment of silence.

"If Anthony's at the shop, then i must meet him," Mr. Todd stated, striding out the door. before he opened it though, he craned his neck over his shoulder, so he was staring at Ruby. "And Miss Ruby?"

"What?"

"Please don't distract the boy any further than you already have," he warned darkly, "it may interfere with his schedule. Ruby scoffed- as far as she knew, the kid didn't have a schedule. Nor did she care. Before she could reply with some witty retort, the barber gave her a salute before opening the door, the sounds of honking cars and chatting people invading the hotel lobby.


	4. Chapter 4

Emma strolled down the block, eyeing the buildings that lined the street. There was the police department, a large gray stone building. Next to it was Mr. Gold's pawn shop. Across the street was the auto mechanic, and a few feet from that, Granny's Bed-N-Breakfast. Emma sighed, shoving her hands in her pockets. The wind played with the ends of her blond hair, tugging it behind her like a cape.

She still couldn't get over the sound of that voice. The way it sounded was almost angelic, with just the right amount of raspiness to it. She could say it almost reminded her of Steven Tyler's voice, the frontman of Aerosmith, but the two just weren't comparable.

_Still,_ she thought, _if it was that kid, then he sounded pretty good_. The wind blew past, nipping at her nose and cheeks. Pulling her coat tighter, she looked around. No one was on the streets besides herself, save the children playing on the playground across the street at the school, ignoring the pleas of their parents and teachers to "Come inside! It's too cold!" Emma grinned as she watched them, coming to a standstill. Often she'd find Henry sitting on the swings or at the top of the wooden castle with his book of fairy tales. The one Mary Margaret had given him. Emma turned way front eh playground, eyes sat down at her feet.

"Excuse me, Miss," came a voice. The sheriff snapped her head up, finding herself face to face with a teenaged boy.

In fact, the same teenaged boy from the diner. She tilted her head at him, furrowing her eyebrows. The boy, in return, immediately kept his head down, wrapping his arms around himself.

"I-I need to open up shop, Miss…." he said sheepishly, "for…. Mr. Todd." It took Emma a minute to recall the name- where had she heard it before? She nodded her head, realization flooding her memory. He was the new resident currently staying at Granny's hotel.

"Of course," Emma smiled politely, side-stepping around him. He returned the favor, daring to look up at her with big blue eyes- or were they brown? She couldn't tell. Of course, it didn't really matter. Emma watched as he grasped the doorknob of the building- the one she stood in front of, it seemed. The wooden walls looked worn out, pockmarked with scratches and holes. There was a staircase attached to the side that lead to an upstairs apartment, made of the same old wood.

Overall, it looked quite unsafe.

"If you don't mind me asking," Emma piped up suddenly, noticing the small jump the teen made, "what's Mr. Todd's job?"

It took a second for him to answer.

"A barber, Miss."

Emma nodded, watching as he returned to the task at hand, fumbling with a set of keys he had pulled from a pocket somewhere on his pants. There was a whistle in her ears as the wind blew through once more, nearly yanking the boy's scarf from his neck, almost choking him in the process. His hair, which was shaggy and shoulder length, almost, looked like it was going to be yanked from his scalp, strand by strand, until he was bald. His shirt looked incredibly thin, nothing appropriate for this kind of weather.

"Hey, aren't you cold, kid?" she asked, taking a step forward. He watched her with tentative eyes.

"It's Anthony," he corrected her, immediately staring down at his feet. "I'm sorry, Miss." Emma raised an eyebrow at him.

"Anthony," she tried out the name, "got a last name?"

There was another pause before he said softly, "Hope."

_Anthony Hope_, Emma repeated the name in her head. It sounded pretty, had a nice ring to it. Shrugging, she tried again. A guilty look flashed through his eyes as he looked up at her again. It looked almost laughable, the way he looked at her, like a puppy caught digging under the fence.

"Well, Anthony Hope, why are you apologizing?"

"It's one of the things Mr. Todd said, Miss," his breath was a thick cloud as he head his chest, "not to… correct others while they speak." Emma was taken aback- the kid surely had some manners. It wasn't much she could say for her own son, henry, who just blurted out random questions whenever he felt like it. As she pondered his statement, she could feel the sensation of eyes boring into her, and she realized that Anthony was staring at her profusely, his eyes lit up with…. was it affection? She couldn't tell.

"Is something on my face…?" she asked hesitantly. Anthony chuckled to himself, averting his eyes to look at the playground across the street. He licked his full, pouted lips.

"No, Miss, I do apologize." He lifted the keys, rattling them in his hand, "I should probably open up shop. Mr. Todd dislikes when i dawdle…"

_WHAP!_

Emma jumped as a rolled up newspaper slapped Anthony in the back of his head, making him double over, thin fingers clutching his hair. The keys fell from his fingers, rattling and clinking as they fell on the cracked pavement.

"I told you to open up shop, boy, not gossip with your girlfriend!" the owner, a pale man with wild black hair scolded harshly. Nodding, Anthony kept his eyes on the keys as he bent to pick them up, gasping as he received a swift kick on the back of his knees from the old man.

"What the hell?!" Emma cried, using to grab Anthony, pull him up. As she neared him, he shrunk away, slowly forcing himself into a sitting position. Now the he was looking up at her, Emma saw the slash of red on his face. _Blood…?_ she thought, then pushed the thought away. Glaring, she placed her hands on her hips. Anthony slowly go tup, and Emma could practically hear his bones creaking, a scream echoing in the dark.

"Young lady if you'd be so kind as to step aside while I deal with this brat here," the man hissed, showing off a set of crooked, faintly yellowed teeth. He tucked the newspaper under his arm, snatching the keys from Anthony before muttering under his breath, "Insolent cad can't even open a door without getting distracted…" Anthony was silent as Emma looked between them.

Then it hit her.

"Mr. Todd?" she said with bewilderment, pursing her lips.

"What's it to you?" he snapped at her. There was a click as he turned the key in the knob, the door swinging open with a loud creak. Almost like a rag doll, Anthony was pushed through the door, all the while looking at Emma with big, apologetic eyes. Se could only watch as Mr. Todd then slammed the door in her face, a soft click muffled through the wood, signaling that their conversation was over and done.

Crossing her arms, she stood at the door for a few minutes, cocking her head as the click of the lock was followed by muffled voices. It's difficult to make out what they're saying… she pondered, cautiously stepping forward, pressing her ear to the door.

The wood was fought against her cheek as she strained to listen.

"You daft, blasted boy!" Mr. Todd was yelling, "I told you to open up shop!"

"Y-yes sir, I know…" Anthony's voice was almost too quiet to be audible.

"We won't have it again, y' hear?" Mr. Todd snarled with his angry British accent. Obviously, Anthony must have agreed because the next minute, Mr. Todd was sounding almost perky, saying, "Good. Now we need to clean up for any customers. Judge Turpin should be by soon- Ms. Lovett prepared the room for me already, so clean up here I guess…"

Emma's breath caught in her throat- who was Judge Turpin? And this Ms. Lovett? _Part of the curse, maybe?_ she thought, pulling herself away from the door. The heels of her boots clicked along the sidewalk cement. Cracks zig-zagged along the edge of the curb.

She still couldn't shake the sound of the boy's voice. It sounded so childish and….

Scared, she realized.

In fact, he was probably terrified of Mr. Todd, seeing his reaction to the man. Emma started walking faster, her legs aching, muscles screaming at her to walk leisurely, slowly. She kept going until she got to the warm yellow building at the end of the street, with its dark brown shingled roof.

Dr. Archie Hopper's therapy clinic was something she thought she might need at the moment. Sighing heavily, she raised a fist to the door, rapping the wood with her knuckles. As she waited at the door, she turned around to gaze at the street, her eyes focusing brazenly on Mr. Todd's barber shop. The exterior looked menacing.

A menacing shop for a menacing man.

A gust of wind played with her hair as she watched the door- was it being opened? She squinted, focusing as best she could.

Indeed, it was. There was the faint tinkle of a bell as the door swung open carefully, and out popped Anthony Hope, inspecting the streets, wary if anyone was there.

"What the heck is that kid doing…?" Emma asked herself, watching as he fully emerged, running across the blacktop decorating with yellow and white lines. Thankfully, no cars decided to drive by, and he half jogged, half hopped to the other side. Emma could see he was carrying some sort of case- a guitar case, in fact, and extremely close to his chest, afraid of losing it. She didn't hear Archie's door open, the man standing in the frame.

"Emma!" he exclaimed, "this is a surprise!" She nodded nonchalantly, watching as Anthony looked around once more before climbing up onto the wooden castle playlet on the playground, where she and Henry sat after school- which she knew he'd be getting out of soon. _Where Henry's book is_, she realized.

The book of fairy tales Henry owned was buried at the base of the castle, under the wood chips and deep in the dirt. Hopefully Anthony wouldn't find it.

"Emma?" Archie's voice broke through her thoughts, and she turned to face the therapist- Jiminy Cricket, the Conciense back in the Enchanted Forest. In Story Brooke he was anything but a cricket. Here he was a middle-aged man who had balding red hair with glasses and wore pale green sweater vests. Pongo, his Dalmation, barked happily at her arrival.

"Sorry, sorry," Emma apologized, peering quickly over her shoulder at Anthony as he opened the case and pulled out a guitar. Archie stepped aside, ushering her to come inside.

"You look like you need to talk," he suggested. Emma nodded, stealing one last look at Anthony before going in.

She could hear him strumming the instrument, his voice warbling sadly on the wind.


	5. Chapter 5

Henry was anxious to get out of school. Not that Mary Margaret's art class bored him, but because he was itching to read his book- the one she had given him with all the fairy tales. Impatiently, he started packing up his school books, homework papers crammed haphazardly into paper folders and plastic binders. The class was currently finishing up their birdhouses, a assignment that Mary Margaret had told them was special not only for the kids, but for the future inhabitants of said houses.

"Okay, see you tomorrow!" she said cheerfully, watching as they raced for the door once the bell rang, signaling the end of the day. She called to Henry just as he got in the doorframe, "And Henry! I'll se you at home!" He gave her a quick smile before running out, charging down the hallway like a bull in a china shop.

He really hoped his book was still there, since Regina had found out about it.

Ever since the curse broke, that is. He ginored his friend, Paige, who was waving to him from the bus stop and went straight to the playground. It was currently filled with hordes of screaming children, all of them playing pretend or fighting over the rules in checkers or chanting silly rhymes while skipping a frayed rope. Instead of joining them he went right for the wooden castle fixated on the farther side of the playground.

The paint had chipped off to reveal white wood underneath, black shingles faded to decorate the roof in the form of a triangle. The structure itself was sturdy, if not worn. Shrugging off his bag, Henry sifted his fingers through the soil until he unearthed the brown leather, the fancy gold writing winking up at him. Henry smiled, his teeth pearly white.

"Thank goodness," he muttered, cleaning off the dirt as he picked it up, carefully climbing onto the castle. The wood creaked under his weight as he settled himself onto the platform, carefully opening the book, flipping slowly through the pages. He wanted to take in every detail of the pictures, they were drawn so lavishly and detailed.

"Excuse me," came a voice, making Henry snap his head up. Looking to his left, he saw a teenager sitting cross-legged against the pillar of the roof. Henry used his thumb to mark the page he was on.

"Yeah?" the boy replied.

"Sorry, but you're sitting on my guitar case," the teen pointed underneath him. Henry looked down to find out that he was, indeed, sitting on a guitar case, the cloth giving way underneath him. Sheepishly, he pushed it out from underneath his legs, the bag scratching the wood as he slid it across. The teen took it gently sending him a polite smile.

"Sorry," Henry apologized, feeling his face going red as he returned to his book.

He was in the middle of reading about a man named Sweeney Todd, and he had gotten to the part in the story where Anthony sees Johanna in her window for the first time. He could vaguely remember Emma saying something about it being a musical in the modern world, when he had first shown her the pages. The entire story was dark, with Sweeney Todd wanting to exact revenge on Judge Turpin, who in turn wanted to prevent Anthony from eloping with Johanna while secretly wanting to do so himself. Along the way, Mrs. Lovett would turn Sweeney's customers into pies after the barber slit their throats and sent them down a chute to the kitchen.

Quite the gruesome tale. Henry could only help but not gag as he read of Beadle Bamford beating up the young Anthony with something called a 'billyclub.' Henry made a mental note to have Emma explain what that was later.

"What are you reading?" the teen piped up, and Henry could hear the soft hum of guitar strings.

"A fairy tale book," Henry replied immediately, happy someone was showing an interest. He nodded at the guitar, "You play guitar?"

"And piano," he said, his fingers light on the strings, "but mostly for my fiancé." Henry smiled- the kid looked a little young to be getting married, but he wasn't one to judge.

"My name's Henry," Henry finally introduced himself, holding out a hand. There was a pause, and Henry was all too aware of the confused look that crossed the teen's face. After a few seconds, the teen took it, clasping Henry's hand gently in his own as they shook.

"Anthony," he replied, brushing a strand of golden brown hair out of his face. Henry stared at him, then back at his book.

There was a picture of a young man and woman, staring at one another with lovestruck awe and joy. their hands were clasped, and it looked like the boy was kissing the girl's knuckles- some sort of polite custom or something was what Henry figured.

It was quite obvious the two were in love.

Henry stole a peek at Anthony as he began strumming his guitar, the sharp twang of the strings synchronize with the soft humming of his lips. The boy could see how gaunt his face was, with high cheekbones and full lips that were chapped. The two sat in silence as Henry went back to his reading, Anthony humming a song to himself while he played.

_It's a possibility_, Henry thought, his gaze sliding to Anthony once more, _after all, he definitely looks like the one in the picture…. _

"Are you alright, Henry?" Anthony's polite question broke through his thoughts, and Henry felt his face burn. He had been caught staring, he knew. Quickly he turned away, slamming the book shut, shoving it in his backpack. By now, Anthony had stopped playing, his thin fingers looking about to bleed if the calluses broke.

"Y-yeah," he stammered, "I just uh, have to go home now." He gave Anthony an apologetic look as he added, "Emma wants me home for dinner and all."

"Emma?" Anthony asked, realization flooding his face, "is she the woman with the yellow hair?" Henry scrunched his nose- that was a weird way to describe being blond.

"Uh, yeah- she's my mom," Henry explained, "so I should probably go…." Trailing off, he hopped down to the ground, pain stemming up his ankles as he slammed down hard. He was about to run across the street when Anthony called for him, and he turned his head to look.

"Give her my thanks then?" he called. Henry nodded, grinning as he turned and ran.

What it was Anthony wanted to thank Emma for, though, he had no idea.


	6. Chapter 6

"Henry!" Emma cried as her son slammed the door to the apartment, "where have you been?" Dumping his backpack on the floor, he unzipped it, digging through its contents. He pulled out his storybook, flipping through it until he almost tore the pages from its spine.

"Whoa, whoa!" Emma chastised, grabbing his arm to slow him down, "be careful with that! You love that book!" Henry ignored her, eyes scanning the pages.

"Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber Of Fleet Street….?" was Mary Margaret as she appeared behind Henry, reading over his shoulder. She smelled of apple and cinnamon- most likely for a pie. Henry nodded, showing them the pictures.

"But that isn't a fairytale," Emma said, exchanging glances with Mary Margaret. The princess merely shrugged, pursing her lips.

"Neither is Dr. Whale, and he's here- Frankenstein, remember?" Henry pointed out. Emma nodded- now that that was mentioned, she felt she really should mention her visit with Archie. Or Anthony Hope, for that matter.

"Anyway," Henrey cleared his throat, "you know the new residents in town?" Emma glanced at the book, then at Henry. The page had thick Gothic lettering scrawled on it, depicts like it was dripping blood. Mary Margaret had begun humming a soft tune to herself as she wiped her hands free of sugar on her jeans.

"You mean Anthony and Mr. Todd?" Emma raised an eyebrow as Henry nodded, flipping through the chapter until he found a certain picture. Pointing, he said, "Look at this." Reluctantly, Emma peered at it, her blond hair creating a curtain in her face. Henry had flipped to a picture of a boy and a girl looking lovingly at one another, the boy holding the girl's knuckles delicately to his mouth.

Henry watched as Emma stared at it. It was the same picture he was looking at when he and met Anthony on the play castle. Hopefully she might recognize who it was as well.

"They're in love," Emma said, "so what?" Henry rolled his eyes, groaning as he jabbed at the boy with his index finger, the page crinkling slightly.

"That's Anthony!" he whined. Mary Margaret had stopped humming, listening in closely.

"You mean the boy singing at the diner?" she asked. Henry nodded. He shifted to focus on the girl in the picture.

"When I was talking to him at the playground, he said he had a fiancé," Henry said, "this has to be her." Emma shrugged, exchanging glances with Mary Margaret, who could only shrug back. Kids these days, it seemed, got married extremely young. Emma tilted her head, squinting at the features drawn on his face. They definitely looked like Anthony, from what she could remember, but somehow he seemed happier, more alive.

"What's her name?" Mary Mary Margaret's voice was in her ear as she leaned per Emma's shoulder to point at the girl in the picture. Stepping aside to make more room, emma squinted at the caption written daintily underneath the drawing.

"Anthony and Johanna make plans to run away to be married…" she trailed off, scoffing as she added, "Jesus Christ, how old is this kid?!" Her mind reeled back to when she was talking ith him in front of the store- he hd bee staring at her with such love and adoration…

"Shit."

"What is it?" Mary Margaret asked gently, leaning with her hands on the table.

"I was talking with him earlier, and he was giving me this look- you know, that look of two people in love," Emma explained, "and I think he sees Johanna in me."

"Well you have to help him then!" Henry exclaimed, flipping through the pages.

"What?! Henry, I'm not eighteen years old- I'm a mother-" Emma protested, trailing off as Henry came to one of the last few pages- the climax of the story was what it looked like. An old man was seen peeping on a young woman- Johanna- then later beating Anthony with a club. Silently, she took the book from Henry, turning the pages slowly to look at them.

There was a picture of Sweeney Todd with a haggard looking woman dancing in a pie shop. She pointed to it.

"Todd mentioned a Mrs. Lovett and Judge Turpin earlier," Emma said, "this must be her." As soon as she said this, a green tinge decorated Henry's pale face. "What's wrong?"

"I read the story already," Henry said, "and you know who he cuts hair and she makes pie?" Emma shrugged- she was fairly acquainted with the musical version of the story.

"Well instead of actually cutting hair, he kills them," Henry explained, adding at the two women's shocked faces, "as revenge! For Judge Turpin wrongly imprisoning him!"

"Henry, i don't think killing innocent people is justification for revenge," Mary Margaret shook her head.

"Well, he takes Johanna away! He puts her in an insane asylum for saying no to his proposal!" Henry complained, "that means we have to find Johanna!" Emma groaned. If she really wanted to find tho girl, she would have left by now. But the problem was that this woman and never appeared in Story Brooke before, so it was going to be next to impossible to do anything.

"Henry-"

"Anthony and Johanna belong together, Emma!" Henry's voice rose as he spoke, "it's true love- we have to help them!" He watched as his mother rubbed her temples, sighing heavily. Mary Margaret looked on curiously, gaze darting between the two as a ding sounded in the air. The apple pie was done, the smell tantalizing in the air, on their nostrils. The look on henry's face told Emma that he wasn't letting up anytime soon.

Mary Margaret slowly opened the oven to take the pie out, sucking on her finger as she accidentally burned it on the hot tin pan.

"Alright, well I'll let this cool off…" she tossed the towel on the table, quietly leaving Emma and Henry to discuss the matter at hand. Once she was sure she and left, Emma licked her lips.

"Henry, what if you're wrong?" Emma asked, immediately regretting the question. She knew that when he came to the book he was never wrong- so why was she doubting him now?

"You know I'm not, Emma," Henry said, "please. We have to help them." The look in the kid's eyes was watery, his pupils dilated to enormous lengths as he sat there with her.

Nodding, she said reluctantly, "Fine. Where do we start? Interrogation?" Henry shrugged, shutting the book carefully.

"I don't think Anthony knows what's going on right now," Henry explained, his mind flashing back to their conversation on the wooden castle, how he hd mentioned a fiancé- but it just occurred to him he never gave a name. And there was something else.

"What is it, kid?" Emma tilted her head, giving him a curious glare.

"He asked me something- Anthony," Henry said.

"Well? What was it?"

"He asked me to give you his best," Henry said, although he wasn't exactly sure what that meant exactly. He paused, biting his lip. Emma pursed her lips, a thin line on her pale face.

"Anyhting else?" she prompted.

"He said to say thanks," Henry said, "although he didn't tell me why." A look of realization flooded through Emma's face- _He must be talking about the whole deal with Todd_, she thought. She nodded, rubbing Henry's back. Yep; that had to be the case. Why else would Anthony say such a thing?

"Alright Henry," she said, pushing herself off her chair, "let's go find the two lovebirds and re-unite them, huh?" Henry grinned as he followed her out the door, yelling to Mary Margaret that they'd be gone for a while.

The apple pie sat on the counter, untouched and ignored, the smell of apples and cinnamon lingering in Emma and Henry's place.


	7. Chapter 7

Johanna was wary of Judge Turpin's gaze on her as they walked down the street. The sign for Granny's Diner was a few feet ahead, blinking and buzzing periodically. Johanna sighed. She could count the difference between the seconds the sign buzzed and how many seconds it took Judge Turpin to look away momentarily if they were doing something like crossing a street.

It took about six seconds exactly.

For the rest of that time, Johanna was acutely aware of Judge Turpin's attention. Having been her adoptive "father" for all these years, she knew he was probably being overprotective, but she knew how he truly felt. She knew her biological father was out there somewhere, but whee exactly, she wasn't sure.

"So, my dear," Turpin piqued her attention once they approached the diner, the noise of people escaping the front door, "how do you like Story Brooke so far? Not quite like home, I suppose?" Johanna shrugged. Living with the Judge in London wasn't going to feel any different than living here, she knew.

"I suppose," she said, quietly fighting the urge to mention Anthony. She knew how he felt about the boy, as well as their engagement. The day he found out- no, the very minute- Anthony and his employer, the strange Mr. Todd, whisked themselves away to America.

Or so the story went. Judge Turpin had tried convincing her that she was seeing people that didn't exist, even going so far as to throw her into Bedlum's Insane Asyum. She shivered at the memory- the girls there were truly pitiful, and she hated knowing that she was one of them, even if only for a few minutes after faking that she indeed was pretending to see poltergeists.

"You know I truly am sorry, Johanna," the old man said as they walked into the diner, "but it was for your own good." Johanna ignored him, instead looking out at the crowd. Construction workers were at the bar, a waitress running around on a pair of roller blades wearing skimpy red shorts and handing out tall glasses of soda. everyone seemed to be pretty friendly with one another.

And she hoped Anthony was here somewhere because dear God, she couldn't stand spending another minute with the judge. As they took seats at a booth by the window, the waitress rolled up to them, handing two sleek laminated menus to the Judge, who smiled in return.

"Thank you," he said. The waitress flipped her brown hit over her shoulder, and Johanna could see two red streaks dyed underneath.

"I'm Ruby, I'll be your server today," she said, poising her pen over her notepad. Sighing, Johanna opened her menu, stealing a quick loo at the girl's bright smile, her teeth two perfect rows of pearls.

"I'll just have the breakfast platter," Judge Turpin said,"the same for Johanna." Johanna glared at him- not even allowed to give a food order! Ruby raised an eyebrow at he, then at the judge, "Is that all?"

"Yes," the man gave her the menus, sliding out of his seat, 'now if you excuse me for a moment." The two women watched as he disappeared into the bathroom, and the waitress rolled her eyes.

"Okay, obviously you don't want the breakfast platter, so what do you want?" Johanna glanced at the bathroom door, then at her- was she crazy?!

"No, really, it's fine," she said.

"Listen my job is to make sure your full and a happy stomach is a happy customer," Ruby said, "so I'll get you some pancakes and bacon to go." Johanna nodded as the girl began to scribble in her little notebook.

It felt wrong to go against what the Judge had ordered for her- but it was just food, so it really shouldn't have mattered.

_I guess it's because he's made my decisions for me for my whole life_, Johanna thought, thanking the girl as she rolled away to go behind the bar alongside an older woman. Ruby winked at her as Judge Turpin came back, grunting as he took his seat in the both. Johanna smiled back, Judge Turpin calling her attention once more.

"So there's a new hair dresser's opening up later today," he said, "why don't we go get a haircut then?" Johanna brushed her fingers through her boon hair. It had always been long, at least halfway down her back, and she liked it that way. No way she was going to chop it off because some creepy old geezer wanted her to.

But she didn't protest. Instead she heard herself agree:

"Okay I guess."

Judge Turpin smiled, reaching across the table to clasp her hands in his.

"I'm so happy you're with me, my dear," he said, and Johanna recoiled, pressing her back into the padded leather seat.

She wished Anthony was here in this town because she couldn't stand another minute alone with the Judge.


End file.
